“There!—­there was a smile in earnest!” cried Dorothy, brightening up.  “Oh, Richard!  I am quite happy now.  And after all I do not see why you should take such a gloomy view of things.  I have no doubt there is a great deal, a very great deal, of happiness in store for you and Alizon—­I must couple her name with yours, or you will not allow it to be happiness—­if you can only be brought to think so.  I am quite sure of it; and you shall see how nicely I can make the matter out.  As thus.  Mistress Nutter is certain to die soon—­such a wicked woman cannot live long.  Don’t be angry with me for calling her wicked, Richard; but you know I never can forget her unhallowed proceedings in the convent church at Whalley, where I was so nearly becoming a witch myself.  Well, as I was saying, she cannot live long, and when she goes—­and Heaven grant it may be soon!—­Alizon, no doubt, will mourn for her though I shall not, and after a decent interval—­then, Richard, then she will no longer say you nay, but will make you happy as your wife.  Nay, do not look so sad again, dear brother.  I thought I should make you quite cheerful by the picture I was drawing.”

“It is because I fear it will never be realized that I am sad, Dorothy,” replied Richard.  “My own anticipations are the opposite of yours, and paint Alizon sinking into an early grave before her mother; while as to myself, if such be the case, I shall not long survive her.”

“Nay, now you will make me weep again,” cried Dorothy, her tears flowing afresh.  “But I will not allow you to indulge such gloomy ideas, Richard.  If I seriously thought Mistress Nutter likely to occasion all this fresh mischief, I would cause her to be delivered up to justice, and hanged out of the way.  You may look cross at me, but I would.  What is an old witch like her, compared with two young handsome persons, dying for love of each other, and yet not able to marry on her account?”

“Dorothy, Dorothy, you must put some restraint on your tongue,” said Richard; “you give it sadly too much licence.  You forget it is the wish of the unhappy lady you refer to, to expiate her offences at the stake, and that it is only out of consideration to her daughter that she has been induced to remain in concealment.  What will be the issue of it all, I dare scarcely conjecture.  Wo to her, I fear!  Wo to Alizon!  Wo to me!”

“Alas!  Richard, that you should link yourself to her fate!” exclaimed Dorothy, half mournfully, half reproachfully.

“I cannot help it,” he replied.  “It is my destiny—­a deplorable destiny, if you will—­but not to be avoided.  That Mistress Nutter will escape the consequences of her crimes, I can scarcely believe.  Her penitence is profound and sincere, and that is a great consolation; for I trust she will not perish, body and soul.  I should wish her to have some spiritual assistance, but this Nicholas will not for the present permit, alleging that no churchman would consent to screen